


Change Is As Good As A Holiday

by atlasio



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: First fic so probably horrendously ooc, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Otherwise the start of a friendship, Shipping If You Squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 19:00:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19362556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlasio/pseuds/atlasio
Summary: ...If your holidays involve accidentally punching people in the face or making terrible apologies for your mistakes.A story featuring Woodie and Maxwell, their misunderstandings, and subsequent understandings.





	Change Is As Good As A Holiday

**Author's Note:**

> Was inspired to write a kind of 'what-if-this-happened' with Maxwell joining the same group of survivors as Woodie.
> 
> Some short scenes, cobbled together with the notion of a vague plot. Eyyy.

Woodie was jittery. The kind of nervousness that swirled in his gut, set his teeth on edge and demanded a constant awareness of the surrounding dusk. Being close to the warmth of the firepit during winter evenings was usually enough to soothe frayed nerves (especially where Willow was involved) but several current factors overruled this usual method. 

The most obvious of which being the impending full moon.

He'd been incredibly hesitant to set up camp with the other survivors at first, thanks to his more ... beaver-y side. After all, it was much easier to keep a secret from friends that were only stumbled upon every so often while searching for supplies. But at Lucy's insistence that a communal camp 'would benefit him greatly', he had reluctantly agreed and soon found she was right (more proof that it was always a good idea to take Luce's advice). Woodie enjoyed the feeling of camaraderie as part of the unusual, ragtag bunch and his concerns had waned with each full moon that passed, ensuring his secret was kept safe for another month. 

But, of course, nothing truly went right for long in the constant...

He growled under his breath in frustration, glancing over the dancing flames toward the other source of his anxiety - and newest member of their group - Maxwell. 

The man had stumbled across their camp only a few days ago, causing quite a scene. Woodie soon realised he wasn't the only one to hold a grudge against the previous 'King'. But after much peacekeeping effort on Wilsons part (bless his soul), Maxwell was begrudgingly given a tent of his own, handed an axe and instructed to 'make himself useful'. 

Woodie found being polite towards Maxwell wasn't all that hard really, especially since the magician didn't tend to initiate conversation. But he _was_ worried about how much Maxwell remembered from his time on the throne. Namely, the curse the King had 'gifted' him on his arrival to the constant. Even now, watching Maxwell have an animated conversation with Wilson over the science machine, he could swear the man kept stealing pointed glances at both him and the recently erected moondial in the middle of their base. 

Although, that could just be anxiety playing tricks with his mind.

After all, he wasn't at all afraid of the frail old hoser; with chiseled, frowning features, an intimidating three piece suit and powerful shadow magic that could summon literal swordsmen...

...Okay, maybe he was a little afraid. But only a little. 

***

"So you're saying that there's a way to construct one of these machines, but for ... magic purposes?" 

"Mmmmhmmmm, that's one way to put it I suppose."

Maxwell found it amusing how animated Wilson got when involved in a discussion about anything even vaguely related to science. He owed the little scientist a lot and definitely didn't deserve the tolerance many of the survivors gave him ... Considering how badly they were all treated during his time bound to the throne ...

"A Pres-de-what?-i-tator?"

The lingering feeling of guilt reminded him of one of those he may have wronged the most and he couldn't help but glance across at the figure hunched over the firepit.

It was a full moon tonight.

"Maxwelllll..."

A gloved hand waved in front of his face brought him back to reality.

"Just go talk to him, Woodie's a really affable guy." 

He huffed, a little annoyed that his train of thought had been so predictable. 

"I'm sure Woodie doesn't want to talk to me, Wilson... hell, I still haven't figured out why _you_ want to talk to me." 

Wilson just shrugged.

"Can't know until you try. Besides ... a magic machine! You have to help me build one, okay?"

Movement at the firepit caught Maxwell's attention and from the corner of his eye he noticed Woodie standing to leave. 

"Hmmmm." It was Maxwell's turn to wave his hand, humming noncommittally before bidding his companion goodnight. 

"Sleep well Maxwell."

" ... Thank you."

Through the pervasive gloom of dusk he could just make out Woodie's silhouette trudging through the clearing, away from camp. It hadn't been his place to ask, but he had wondered if any of the other survivors knew about the woodsman's curse. Interesting... it would seem Woodie would prefer to keep that particular truth to himself. In his opinion, quietly sneaking away each full moon was a rather lonely way to keep a secret.

Maxwell gave a cursory glance around the empty base, the conversation with Wilson still fresh in his mind. Another huff escaped the magicians lips before he headed in the same direction as Woodie.

"Can't know until you try," he muttered.

***

Maxwell’s breath left vaporous trails in the night air as the clearing started to give way to dense forest. Night had fallen as he wandered through the trees, moonlight casting a glint on their snow-laden branches. It was eerily quiet, as if the entire constant was holding its breath in anticipation. Of what, he wasn’t sure. At least not anymore. Memories from his time on the throne were now patchy at best. 

“Hey! Old man!”

He whipped around, startled at the shrill exclamation.

Oh. Of course. It was Lucy. Along with what must be Woodie’s pile of belongings, lying just off from the beaten down path. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

Maxwell was levelled with what one could only describe as an accusing glare. How that was possible from a sentient axe … Well, it beat him. But he had experienced stranger things before.

She _was_ rather rude though.

"Do I need to explain myself? Can't a man take a walk on a full moon?" He retorted. 

"I'm not dense, I know what you're up to. Don't you think Woodie has suffered enough thanks to you? And then you have the nerve to show up at camp as if everyone will accept you with open arms! If you harm him, I'll … I'll… "

Lucy's voice rose in volume, unable to finish her tirade as she got more and more worked up. Maxwell could feel his mouth moving upwards in a sneer.

"You think I _enjoyed_ being on that throne?" He snarled. "It wasn't like I had much of a choice in the matter, and I can _assure_ you I'm not proud of what I've done to your friend." 

The last few words were spat out, as if in disgust, before he sighed, the sharp rush of anger gone as quickly as it came. 

"I understand. I'm not exactly a nice person. But witnessing Woodie's change from the throne seemed much more … impersonal, shall we say. I promise you I have no desire to invade his privacy like that again."

That seemed to cut Lucy short. She sat in silence for awhile, as if carefully considering what he had just said.

."... you do realise I'm not the one you need to apologise to, right?" She muttered. 

"I am… _painfully_ aware of that," he murmured in reply.

She gave him another evaluating look, before appearing to come to a conclusion.

"Well, what are you waiting for, eh? Enough talking about your many mistakes, let's go find the man."

Maxwell was more than happy to agree. Gripping Lucy in one hand and hefting Woodie's backpack onto his shoulders, they set off through the trees, following the trail of fresh stumps and scattered logs. 

***

The cloying smell of tree sap fogged his brain, an aftertaste of bark sitting heavy in the back of his throat. These distinct sensations were the most obvious when Woodie's awareness began to return, but the feeling he _always_ hated the most was the disorientation that lingered after a transformation. 

Coming to his senses while lying on the icy forest floor probably didn't help much either... 

As the numbness sluggishly receded, an unsettling feeling lingered in the back of his mind. His heightened senses warned him something wasn't quite right; which was immediately followed by the alarming realisation that _something was grabbing his shoulder_.

Reacting in a blind panic, he swung his fist outward, feeling it connect with whatever was above him. 

"Argghhhh..." an exclamation of pain, followed by a string of muffled cursing.

_Shit._

With dawning horror Woodie realised what he had mistaken for some _thing_ was actually some _one_. And not just anyone. His vision shot up past the distinctive pair of pinstripe slacks to reveal a disgruntled looking Maxwell, hunched over and holding a bleeding nose. 

_Shit, shit, shit._

Even as the adrenaline wore off, his panic remained. He'd just punched _Maxwell_ of all people. In the face no less. And he looked _pissed_. Oh god. Why did he have to go and do that...

He felt a fresh jolt of fear, trying to shuffle backwards as Maxwell moved to raise his hands. 

He'd meant to say 'I wasn't trying to hurt you' or maybe 'please don't tell the others about me.' But what came out instead was a mixture of both, vocalised in a pathetic sort of whine that revealed how scared he truly was.

"Please don't hurt me." 

***

Okay, Maxwell decided while clutching his nose. He definitely deserved that. Besides, who would be stupid enough to try and touch a werebeaver before they were fully aware of their surroundings. Him, apparently. 

The way the lumberjack had flinched, as if expecting to be struck when Maxwell attempted to raise his hands in a consoling gesture, caused a pang of guilt. Good god. He hadn't realised he frightened Woodie that badly. When the poor man choked out a plea not to hurt him, Maxwell felt his chest get even heavier. 

Stepping back to a respectful distance and crouching down closer to Woodie's level, he cleared his throat for a new attempt.

"... For what it's worth, I didn't watch your ... transformation."

A lousy attempt at an apology. Why was it so hard to say a simple ‘I'm sorry’? But his words seemed to take Woodie by surprise as the lumberjack opened his eyes and stared at Maxwell in disbelief. 

"... really?" Came the unsure reply, Woodie's gaze darting to a spot near Maxwell's feet.

Following the man's line of sight, Maxwell discovered Lucy laying on the ground. Hmm, she was probably a little upset about being dropped after he was punched in the face. Understandable.

"I think you'll be needing these..."

Maxwell scooped up Lucy and slid the backpack off his shoulder, offering them to Woodie as hesitantly as he could. Almost as an afterthought, he also shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it around Woodie's shoulders. Apparently this was an acceptable thing to do, as it afforded an even more disbelieving expression. 

He coughed awkwardly, face flushing a little. (Due to both the cold _and_ his still bleeding nose, he justified. Yes. It was definitely frosty this morning.)

"Really. You of all people should know better than to venture out in this weather without a warm coat..." The admonishment held no real bite. 

Maxwell extended his hand, an offer to help the other up from his position on the ground. He still seemed to be speechless, but Woodie tentatively took the magician's grasp with a small, unsure smile - discovering that those nightmare fuel stained hands were a lot warmer than he had first imagined.

***

In a moment of deja-vu, Woodie realised he was sitting in the same spot near the campfire that he had occupied the previous evening. Although, this time with much less jittery nerves. The flames seemed to have a more calming effect tonight. 

A cough startled him from his thoughts, looking up from the firepit to see that Maxwell was now standing in front of him.

"Ahhh… do you mind if I sit here?" The magician cleared his throat again, gesturing to the end of the stump Woodie was currently using as a makeshift chair. 

He shuffled over a little, giving Maxwell a genuine smile and patting the other side of the seat in confirmation.

"No problem, eh. Here you go. Fire's nice tonight."

As Maxwell sat, Woodie was afforded a view across the flames, where he could see Wilson, tinkering with the science machine again no doubt. But this time the scientist seemed to be giving a very smug, knowing smile in Maxwell's direction. How odd. Maybe he would ask him what that was all about later… 

For now though, he was going to enjoy the feeling of warmth from both the fire and his newfound company.


End file.
